


Undercover Lover

by Darkravenwrote



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:21:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28252341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkravenwrote/pseuds/Darkravenwrote
Summary: Draco likes living as a muggle. It suits him. Except for the fact that he’s miserable and alone. That is until Potter starts a truly idiotic game of trying to out-ridiculous him with his undercover stories.Written for HDOwlpost 2020
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66
Collections: Harry/Draco Owlpost 2020





	Undercover Lover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queercore_curriculum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queercore_curriculum/gifts).



> Happy holidays, everyone. I had a blast writing thing. I hope fandom is bringing some joy to anyone not having the greatest time right now.

Draco is busy sulking about the lonely nature of his pitiful life when he realises he should know the man lurking at the front of the shop.

There's nothing particularly eye catching about him; he'd blend into most Quidditch crowds. His robes are dark but average. His face is nondescript in a handsomely bland sort of way. Only the curly moustache makes Draco pause. It feels out of place -- although how a physical attribute can be 'out of place' on a stranger you've never seen before is a mystery.

Draco's about to turn back to his work -- reflossing to candy-flosser -- when it hits him. 

It's Harry Potter.

Draco thinks there's some experimental charm somewhere between a notice-me-not spell and a glamour wafting around him. And the horrific, fake moustache.

"Potter?" he calls, to make sure he isn't imagining things again.

For a tense moment he thinks it's all in his head and he might need to take a trip back to St Mungo's to see his old therapist. But then, finally, Potter turns. (Draco hates the moustache full-frontal even more.) Stunned, Potter asks, "How did you know it was me?"

Draco flicks at his upper lip, somewhat stumped. He's worried whatever he says out loud will be offensive in some way. It’s hard enough trying not to stare at the monstrosity.

Luckily Potter huffs dramatically and rips the thing off his face without further hesitation.

"Er, what are you doing here?" Potter ambles over to the counter, his attention darting back through the front window every now and then.

Draco glances down at his uniform, the little nametag pinned to his chest and the till at his right side. "I always serve ice cream in this neighbourhood on sundays in June," he says. Potter looks like he's about to laugh at him so he adds, "For the orphans."

Potter cocks his head like he's having a hard time understanding him. Which is fair. And then he says, "Ah, very commendable." He glances outside again and leans closer. They're the only ones in the shop and Draco finds himself bending a little to mirror him. Lowering his voice, Potter says with a completely straight face, "I'm undercover as a disgruntled Gringotts employee who failed to steal their pension in advance." He then has the audacity to actually wink.

Draco is stumped.

Did Potter think he was lying and concocted a similarly unlikely narrative for himself? Surely if he  _ were _ undercover, he wouldn't share it with an old school rival, trial testification and relocation aid be damned. Or, Draco panics, perhaps he already ruined an operation by calling out his name even though no one is in the vicinity -- even the street outside is calm and quiet.

Draco glances down at the 'Fortescue's' scribbled in cursive above his name again, confused.

"I really do work here some sundays for the orphans," he murmurs through a pout.

Potter guffaws, annoyingly merry. "And I really am undercover," he chimes as he skips from the shop without so much as a goodbye.

Moodily, Draco thinks it would be a nice laugh to hear on his birthday tomorrow.

He goes home that evening to his muggle neighbourhood and his muggle flat and orders enough muggle chinese takeaway to last him three days.

Mid-August decides to be stifling for a southern English summer. Draco regrets wearing robes despite his wizarding destination. He likes to keep up appearances when he dips his toe back into his old world. Likes to remind people he didn't run away. He was relocated for genuine safety reasons.

It was his wand that was taken as punishment from the war, not his place in society.

He's waiting at an empty bus stop when someone taps him on the shoulder with a hesitant, "Malfoy?"

Concealing that he very nearly jumps straight out of his skin, Draco whirls. He glances round stuntedly for any sign of Weasleys because surely this must be a joke.

"Erm, hello?"

Potter rocks on his tiptoes awkwardly. His mouth twists like he can't decide what to say.

"I'm, um, visiting St Mungo's," Draco feels compelled to explain, "as an example of healthy adjustment to muggle life following trauma and or imprisonment." He bites his lip to stop himself talking.

Potter's eyes thin. Disbelieving. Then abruptly his smile is back, all white teeth and the joy of life. Draco envies him. "Good luck then, I guess," he says, swaying still. "I'm undercover as a Ministry Ambassador to the Isle of Mann keen to settle tensions surrounding the growing nocturnal whiskerfisted pixie population that's been migrating from Bristol."

Draco's about to do something stupid...like ask why he's not in Bristol then, before he remembers undercover would mean fake anyway.

It doesn't matter because Potter's gone again before he can reply. He looks flushed in the summer heat as he disappears down an alley.

Draco's sitting innocently in a muggle park enjoying the beginnings of Autumn when someone slumps beside him and says cheerily without preamble, "I'm undercover as an enraged ex-St Mungo's patient intent on protesting the recent nurses pay rise."

After their last meeting, Draco decided to stop questioning whether Potter is telling any shred of truth anymore. He wonders if Potter came to the same conclusion about him, even though Draco hasn't told him a single lie.

"Oh, that's awkward," he replies, not looking away from the oak tree across the path from their bench which is still pretty and fully green. "I'm on my way to my union to petition for pay in my currently voluntary role as a therapy dog stand-in."

Potter shifts beside him. He's probably frowning. He used to frown at everything Draco did. His knee presses against Draco's lightly.

"So you can still...?" He trails off like completing the question might summon aurors to arrest Draco. His right wrist and hand make a small circle and Draco knows he's indicating where his wand is hidden in a holster.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread that around."

Potter doesn't ask about the logistics of posing as his own dog in a muggle world before he leaves, because he obviously doesn't believe that's what Draco's actually doing.

Not that Draco thinks Potter spends his entire life doing increasingly ridiculous things undercover either.

Barely a week later, they see each other in the atrium of the Ministry. Potter swishes by him in majestic dark blue robes and his nose held high in the air.

"I'm undercover as an undercover reporter for a new competitor of the Prophet trying to infiltrate their operation...undercover," he whispers as they wait for a lift together. 

When they step inside, Potter does actually ask for the floor that he should be reporting to were he an undercover specialist, which is highly suspicious and Draco's first clue that he isn't being wound up.

He sniffs, selecting the floor that will take him down to Records. "I’m investigating the claim from a wealthy, local nobleman that his niece is attempting to kill him using his sand allergy."

"Huh. Cool." Potter's hand brushes his accidentally as he leaves moments later.

He's blushing when he looks back from down the corridor.

Draco hopes his own blush isn't visible.

On the 31st of October, Draco meets Weasley for the first time since he moved to France after his trial. He looks the same: boyish, merry, and ginger. Although his face dims noticeably when he spots Draco.

"Malfoy!" Potter calls through the crowd, almost happy to see him. Weasley's expression sours further as they stare at each other. "What are you doing here?" Potter's slightly out of breath and looks like he's not dressed for the correct century; even for the wizarding world, robes made of burlap are old-fashioned.

"I'm the local council's lantern lighter for the halloween treasure hunt," Draco mutters, cowed by the heat of Weasley's glare. He much prefers the crinkles at the corners of Potter's eyes from where he's smiling. As if to illustrate his point, he holds up his fire-lighter like a first year with their first wand and immediately feels like an idiot.

The cackle Weasley lets out breaks the tension though. At least he's useful for something.

"Great, sounds fun! We're undercover infiltrating a cult of muggleborns who believe magic isn't real and this is an extravagant fantasy for the aristocracy to watch and gamble on from afar." He scratches at a red mark appearing on his collarbone -- likely from the rough fabric -- as he speaks. It’s distracting.

"That feels appropriately creepy for this time of year."

Potter nods. "I'd much rather be partying it up on a treasure hunt." He laughs again and Draco thinks he looks happy compared to some of the times he's seen him around this year. He wonders what's changed.

"Harry," Weasley suddenly hisses urgently, his chin dipped and eyes lingering up the street.

"Well, target acquired. See you later, Malfoy."

He doesn't give Draco time to reply, but it's nice to receive the courtesy anyway.

Potter falls off the planet in November. His name doesn't even appear in the papers, not once. No sightings with possible but not probable dates. No public appearances or do-gooding.

And Draco's been looking. Not that he'll say out loud that he misses their interactions but... Come December he is starting to miss them. The conversations, that is.

It's a pleasant surprise when Potter graces him with his company one chilly mid-December evening.

"Hello, Malfoy," he greets pleasantly, appearing from out of the shadows at Draco's back. At this point, Draco feels a little conditioned not to jump at his voice no matter the situation.

"Evening," Draco replies, peering back out into the street for anyone following him.

"Sorry I was away for a while. I've been undercover as a potential employee of an exotic creatures dance club."

Draco pointedly looks him up and down over his shoulder. "As a wizard?"

Potter shuffles uncomfortably. "Well, yes, that's the point. We thought they were advertising their speciality falsely, glamouring human witches and wizards, and my goal was to possibly link them to a smuggling ring kidnapping their unsuspecting clients.”

Draco tries not to think of Potter dancing and scantily clad in an offensive humanoid creature get-up and instead raises an eyebrow in question.

"We got them. And you are?" he adds when Draco doesn't reply.

"I'm collecting rose samples for a horticulture society near here; they need options before they decide which one the baby Jesus is going to hold for their nativity."

"Logical," Potter says agreeably, his eyes flicking around them. "That doesn't explain what we're doing standing in frankly a quite shady alley."

Draco clutches his flowers to his chest, pretending he doesn't feel the thorns pricking into his arms punishingly. "I'm literally stealing from people's gardens. Did I not make that part clear?" He pauses to consider Potter's attractively tousled hair and soft-looking turtleneck. "You're looking fairly normal this evening. Underdressed even," he says, gesturing with his wilting bouquet of roses at the snow drifting dreamily down from the dark sky.

Potter clears his throat several times before meeting Draco's eyes. His face is determined in the way Draco remembers from their past. A Gryffindor about to do something brave or stupid, and looking handsome while doing it.

"I'm undercover as an idiot with a crush." He takes a deep, fortifying breath. "And I'm hoping he'll favour me enough to give me a date over Yuletide."

Draco could get used to that sparkle in Potter's eyes being directed at him.

"I think that's your most convincing look yet."


End file.
